


Not your fault

by purple_wildflower



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, BBC, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Injury, Life Partners, Minor Violence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 02:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30082404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_wildflower/pseuds/purple_wildflower
Summary: You are Sherlock's life partner and got wounded while solving a case. Now you are lying in hospital and Sherlock pays you a visit.
Relationships: Sherlock/Reader
Kudos: 15





	Not your fault

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy it.  
> Feel free to leave a comment :)

You are lying in the hospital bed, a few pillows stabilizing your upper body, and are staring at the ceiling. Fortunately, you don't feel any pain, but of course that is due to the strong painkillers they've given you. You have no idea what kind of painkillers, but you assume that it's been some sort of morphine. Your left side feels strangely numb, as if it wasn't really there and you are very tired and exhausted, but you just can't sleep, no matter how hard you try.  
It's because of the memories, replaying in your head over and over again. You cannot remember everything clearly, but there was one moment you would probably never forget in your entire life. The moment when your suspect had taken a gun out of his jacket pocket and aimed at you. His wicked smile before he had pulled the trigger. Everything that had happened afterwards is just blurry. You don't remember the searing pain, not, what the people around you had done or how you had gotten to hospital. The shock, say the doctors. Maybe it's better this way.  
You are lucky that you are alive. This could have ended way worse. You have no idea why the shot had missed your heart, but you vaguely remember John attacking the guy. Anyway, the doctors have treated your wound as best as they can, but you'll have to stay in hospital for a little longer. 

A knock at the door interrupts your dark thoughts. Before you can say “come in” the door opens and Sherlock steps inside. His long coat is whirling around his legs as he enters the room. You try to smile but your smile is fading when you see his face. He looks pale and has dark circles under his eyes, as if he had had as little sleep as you did.  
Without a word he approaches your bed. Just now you see that he is holding a gigantic bunch of flowers in his hand. You are surprised because he has never been the type of person to gift flowers.  
He must be very, very worried, you think.  
He's not really looking at you and takes his time to arrange the flowers in a jar. Still, he doesn't say a word. Then he sits down on the edge of your bed and finally looks straight in your face. His blue eyes meet your (e/c) eyes.  
“I would've visited you earlier, but the doctors didn't allow it”, he says.  
His voice sounds a little bit hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in days.  
You can feel tears welling up in your eyes. Eventually, everything comes crashing down on you, all the emotions you have been holding back, the shock, just everything. You quickly lower your head, so that Sherlock won't see your tears, but you look up as he gently takes your hand.  
“It's OK”, he says softly. “You don't have to hold anything back. Just release all the emotions.”  
“I always thought crying is for stupid sentimental people only”, you reply and have to smile while tears are running across your face.  
He doesn't answer and is just looking at you with his intense gaze. When you have calmed down a bit he raises his hand and brushes a (h/c) strand of hair out of your face. Then, his hand slides down and rests on top of your duvet for a moment, before he hesitantly lifts it, as if he were afraid of what he would see underneath.  
Of course, your wound is not to be seen, since your upper body is wrapped in thick bandages. But apparently this is too much for Sherlock already.  
He drops the duvet and averts his gaze, then jumps to his feet and walks a few steps away from the bed, where he is staring at the wall.  
Thank God he hadn't been here a few days ago, when you accidentally had torn your wound open again and had been bleeding like hell.  
“It's all my fault”, Sherlock suddenly says.  
“It's not”, you reply, tired at once and let yourself fall back into the pillows.  
“I should've noticed that he had had a gun”, Sherlock insists.  
“You cannot see everything”, you answer and close your eyes. This whole conversation has made you feel even more exhausted. “No one can. Not even you.”  
He doesn't say anything, but even without opening your eyes you can basically see how it's eating away at him. Then you feel the mattress dipping and him taking your hand.  
“I promise you” he solemnly says, “from now on I will protect you better.”  
He presses a soft kiss to your hand.  
You smile and slowly drift off to sleep. Finally, with Sherlock by your side, you can find rest.


End file.
